“Now, the Five Cities have laws that are fair and just, and ask only that all who dwell in the land of Canaan abide by those laws. But this new people, these Hebrews, do not abide by any law, but do as pleases them. And at first the Five Cities had looked upon the Hebrews as a mere nuisance, as easy to destroy as a buzzing fly—”
“Has Wise Indiones ever tried to destroy a buzzing fly?” Aylah whispered in my ear as Indiones droned on. I thought of how hard flies were to catch or kill; swatting the vexing insects merely seemed to encourage their attacks. I pressed my lips tight so that I would not laugh aloud and earn extra lessons as punishment. Temple Eunuch Indiones had instructed the Temple’s children so long no one remembered who had preceded him. There was very little Indiones did not know about the history of gods and men—but his nature was solemn and his reprimands severe.
“But although the Five Cities had offered fair bargains for the land the Hebrews coveted, the trade was refused. Now, as you all know—or should know, as I have repeated it often enough—no other people dwelling in Canaan may have a smith of their own. Any man who wishes to sharpen a blade must come to a Philistine smith. Who rules iron rules all. Write that down. Now, the Hebrews have a strange god . . .”
Dutifully, we scratched the words into the wax of our tablets. I could not imagine why we needed to know anything about iron, or Hebrews, or any gods other than our own. My mind drifted back to the Lady’s Arts. “Your body is a living temple. Men will worship it . . .”
“A hard law, fit for a hard metal,” Aylah said as we left the classroom and our lesson in the customs and judgments of the Five Cities.
“What law?” I asked, and Aylah sighed, as if she despaired of me as much as Indiones did.
“Didn’t you listen at all, Delilah? Remember, we are to concentrate our minds on the lesson before us at the time.” Aylah made her voice prim, and I laughed as she went on. “The law that no one save a man of the Five Cities may work in iron.”
“Oh, that. Well, why should those who are our enemies forge blades the equal of ours? Should not our own soldiers possess the best weapons?”
Aylah slanted a glance at me, her eyes gray and hard as iron itself. “The world changes, Delilah. Do you think only weapons are made of a metal harder than bronze? Does a man with an iron plow wish to carry it from his fields to a Philistine forge to have it sharpened? Do you think the way to win men’s hearts is by making their lives harder than they must be?”
I shook my head, although in truth, I did not understand why Aylah cared about such matters. “But do you think it right to set a sword that may slay one of our own people into the hand of an enemy?”
“Your people,” Aylah said. “Not mine.”
There was no bitterness in her voice; she merely told truth, as she saw it. I caught her hand in mine. “My people are your people, heart-sister. Does not everyone here love you?”
I knew that the Temple cherished Aylah, that the Dark Moons, the eldest priestesses who waited to join Our Lady in the Land Beyond, hoped for great things from my heart-sister. With Aylah’s beauty and her quick wit, her graceful dancing, she could rise high. I knew in my heart that Aylah was being groomed to one day take her place as High Priestess. I never said so, fearing that voicing the words would be tempting Fate to set snares across her smooth path.
But what I dared not say, Aylah spoke freely, careless of even a teacher or a priestess overhearing, let alone one of the gods who joy in meddling in the affairs of men and women.
“Yes, everyone here is kind to me. Perhaps they think to see me wear the crown of Goddess-on-Earth one day, and wish me to look upon them with favor.” Aylah smiled, a movement of the lips only. Her eyes remained cool and keen as iron blades.
So sure was I that Aylah’s destiny was to become High Priestess it never occurred to me that she might be jesting—or that she might not wish to wear that crown. All I could think of to say was “Hattah does not seek your favor.”
“Hattah,” said Aylah, “is a clever woman, and wise, too. Why else do you think she is Mistress of the Baths?” As I stared, Aylah looked at me and laughed, softly, as we had been taught. “Close your mouth before something flies into it and steals your words,” she said. “Come—it is past time we must go and let my lady Tannyair instruct us in the proper way to adjust our veils on all occasions, and you know what she is like. If we are late, she will moan and wail about how the Temple ran more smoothly when she came to it, and how in her day no girl dared act carelessly or lack respect.”
“And how Rising Moons scrubbed the Temple steps on their knees—”
“With their own hair—”
“And never spoke unless Atargatis Herself granted permission!” I finished. For a moment, guilt lay in my stomach like a cold, heavy stone; how could I speak so lightly of Our Lady and those who served her?
Aylah laughed at my impious words. “Yes, if Holy Atargatis is angered, Her priestesses make Her displeasure known.”
Aylah’s reckless words made me uneasy, but at least she was again happy—so I decided that Atargatis had not been angered after all. I did not tell these thoughts to Aylah, for I could hear her words echo in my ears as clearly as if I had: “Perhaps Our Lady Atargatis was not angered, but if any of Her priestesses overheard us, they would be angry enough for both themselves and the goddess.”
No, I decided, it would be far wiser to accept Our Lady’s gift of laughter—and hasten on to Priestess Tannyair’s class.
The most visible sign of our new status as Rising Moons was the outline of serpents entwining our arms. I had longed to wear those serpents beneath my skin since I had first set eyes upon one of Lady Atargatis’s favored priestesses. And I was willing to pay the price unflinching.
So when I sat before the Painter of Skins who would create the symbols upon my flesh, I vowed silently that I would not utter a sound, no matter how great the pain. I remembered my lessons in creating peace within myself and called upon that skill now, as the artist took a thin piece of kohl and traced the pattern upon my skin.
Once the image seemed good to her, she took up a bone needle and dipped it into a little pot of ink. After warning me not to move, lest the pattern be ruined, she set the point of the needle against my skin and began tapping the dark ink into the outline she had drawn.
The constant prick-prick-prick of the needle hurt, but I kept my face smooth and my lips closed over words of complaint. Some of the other girls squeaked like trapped bats as the Painter of Skins traced serpents upon their smooth flesh and tapped ink through their soft skin.
When at last the patterns had been finished—a process that began at the dark of one moon and ended at the dark of another—serpents coiled from my wrists to my elbows, outlined in midnight ink. Someday, if I were fortunate, that outline would be filled in with deep ebon-blue, later still be shadowed scarlet, and perhaps even gilded, did I rise high enough in rank.
That goal drove me to work hard at the new lessons assigned to us. Each Rising Moon embarked upon her course of study—some learned the virtues of herbs and plants to heal or harm; others the mysteries of the stars and sky, to gauge the weather from the scent of the air or patterns of the clouds. For Aylah and me, half the day now was given to studying the dances we must know to please our goddess . . .
And Her patrons. For men and women of wealth and power needed the Temple’s sacred dancers to perform at banquets and at festive occasions. Patrons paid much to hire Our Lady’s dancers, whose art might gain the goddess’s favor upon a wedding or a naming.
So it was twice important that those of us chosen for the Lady’s Dance learn its steps well.
Even before we set our feet upon the dancing-floor, the half a dozen Rising Moons who had been chosen to dance learned that all they had already been taught meant nothing now. We all gathered in the Dancing Court—one of the oldest courtyards in the Great House of Atargatis—eager to begin. The dancing-floor was smooth-polished stone dark as deep night, the labyrinth patter
n of the Dance formed of yellow tiles inlaid into that shining black stone. So many feet had danced that intricate pathway in the long years since it had been laid down that the tiles glowed pale as lamplight.
Flute-players and drummers waited for us, as did Dark Moon Priestess Sharissit. Once she had been Lady of the Dance, the most sought-after of the Temple’s dancers; now she served as Priestess of the Dance and taught those chosen to follow the same path she had done.
“So you are my new students.” Sharissit regarded us intently, as if she would look into our hearts. “And like all the others I have taught, I suppose you think you already know how to dance?”
Silence; no one dared answer. I looked into the Dance Priestess’s eyes, and heard myself saying, “If we already knew how to dance, my lady Sharissit, we would not have been given into your care, that you might instruct us.”
The Dance Priestess studied me a moment. “A good answer—and as you are so bold, I am certain you will be pleased to be chosen first to show me what you can do when the music calls.”
Aylah’s fingers brushed my hand, and I sensed her rueful amusement. Now that it was too late, I wished I had remained silent rather than trying to be clever; I only hoped I had not angered the Dance Priestess.
Sharissit lifted her hand, and the musicians began to play. Without saying a word, our teacher walked to the beginning of the dancing path; she stood there a moment, then gracefully, unhurriedly, began to dance. I watched her closely, knowing this was the first lesson. I memorized the steps, the turns, even as I admired Sharissit’s skill. A Dark Moon she might be—past her fruitful years—but she still became the Dance itself when the music called.
When the music ended, Sharissit stopped, then turned and pointed at me. “Go to the beginning of the labyrinth and dance. Let us see whether you have the same talent for dancing as you have for clever answers. And the rest of you may stop smiling and giggling behind your hands. Your turns will come next. Before I can teach any of you, I must see what you must unlearn first.”
The other girls quickly looked at their feet, or smoothed their expressions until they were appropriately grave. Priestess of the Dance Sharissit beckoned me forward.
“Begin, Delilah,” she said, and I stepped onto the yellow path.
The moment my bare feet touched the smooth tiles of the labyrinth, I knew this was why I had been born, why I had been claimed by Lady Atargatis as Her own. My body swayed to the Lady’s music as if I been summoned by that tune since the day my mother had conceived me in the Grove.
Almost unheeding the music, I danced the spiral path set in time-worn yellow tiles upon the ancient stone floor, stopping only when the musicians stopped. Silence seemed to echo against the walls. The magic drained from my body, and I looked back to see everyone—the Dance Priestess, the flute-players and the drummers, the other Rising Moons who also would learn to dance—staring at me.
I did not know what to say, and so I stood silent too, waiting.
At last, the Dance Priestess spoke. “I see you will learn nothing from me.” Sharissit had taught Temple girls to dance since before I was conceived; to hear myself so easily dismissed hurt as if her words were stones against my flesh.
I stared down at the yellow tiles beneath my feet, vowing I would not weep. Tears would leave dark tracings of kohl down my cheeks, reveal my pain and shame to all who watched. As I fought to keep my face smooth, I heard Sharissit say, “Come and stand before me, Delilah.”
As I walked towards her, the priestess ordered the flute-players and the drummers to begin again. I tried to ignore the sound, but my body could not resist the seductive patterns their music wove. My body swayed, my feet matched the music’s rhythm.
I stopped before Sharissit. She made me stand as she walked slowly around me, studying me as if she were judging the worth of a slave at the market—or as if I were a rare gem she had not thought to lay her eyes upon.
When Sharissit stood facing me once more, she smiled. “Sweet Atargatis has granted you a rare gift, Delilah. Have you always danced so?”
“I have danced only to amuse myself, and my sister-moons,” I said. As New Moons, we had been encouraged to attempt any skill we wished. I had loved to let my body flow with music, let my feet choose their own path in time to timbrel or drum. But I knew better than to claim great skill.
“Now you will dance to amuse the goddess, and to honor Her and reveal Her grace to Her worshippers,” Sharissit said. “You will be a jewel in Her crown, Delilah—if you will be taught. Now you dance as Our Lady Atargatis wills it, but you must also learn to dance when only you will it. The goddess’s grace is given at her pleasure. What happens if you must dance and She does not choose to share Her blessing with you that day?”
I did not know, so I merely shook my head.
“I will tell you a secret, Delilah. Long-practiced skills will serve you well during those times you call upon the goddess and She does not choose to answer. Will you learn?”
I lifted my head and looked into Sharissit’s eyes. “I will learn, Priestess of the Dance. But you said you could not teach me.”
She smiled. “I cannot teach you what you possess already—to entwine your body with the music, to give yourself utterly to the Dance. But the proper steps, the correct forms, those I can convey to you. And there are others, finer dancers and teachers than I, who also will instruct you when you have learned all I can teach.”
After that, she sent me back to the beginning of the spiral path, and had me dance its curves and turns again. This time I was so nervous I fell over my own feet; Sharissit laughed and waved me aside, and pointed at the next girl, ordering her to try.
Breathing hard, my hands shaking, I went to stand beside Aylah. “I do not know why I could not do it the second time,” I whispered. “I tried, I did.”
“You tried too hard.” Aylah laced her warm fingers through my trembling ones. “You are not a dancer, Delilah, you are the Dance. When Sharissit sent you back to dance a second time, she knew you could not do it. Not from here.”
Aylah touched my forehead with her fingers. “Here is where you keep steps you have learned, practiced. Here”—she lifted our entwined hands and pressed them against my heart—“here is where you keep Dance itself. When you can join the two, you will become the greatest dancer the Temple has ever possessed—just as you have always said you would. And the most costly.”
“Do you really think so?” I asked, and Aylah nodded solemnly.
“Yes. And—”
“If you cannot stand quiet for even one turn of the sands, perhaps you need more work to do.” Sharissit spoke quietly, but her trained voice carried clear and strong across the dancing-floor. Silence, sudden and almost tangible, filled the courtyard. Aylah and I were not the only girls who had whispered or giggled as they waited for the Dance Priestess to take notice of them.
“You, Aylah—stop whispering to Delilah when you two think I do not notice and go stand over there.” Sharissit pointed at the time-smoothed yellow tiles that formed a seven-pointed star at the beginning of the spiral path.
I let Aylah’s hand slip from mine, and she walked meek enough to the edge of the dancing-floor—but not before she glanced at me. A swift slant of her pale eyes, a lift of her brow, and Aylah conveyed the message You see, Delilah? You were chosen and so shall I be. I told you so before we started. I bit my lip to keep from laughing. For all her solemn ways, sometimes it seemed to me that only Aylah could draw true laughter from me.
Once again the flutes and drums began. Upon Sharissit’s signal, Aylah began the dance, and before she had turned even once to the changing music, unease slid beneath my skin, chilled my joy.
For Aylah danced exactly as Sharissit had shown us. And that was all.
When Aylah reached the end of the pattern, she stopped, and bowed to the Priestess of the Dance. My heart seemed to knot painfully in my chest as Sharissit looked upon Aylah. If the priestess rejected my heart-sister, I must dance alone . . .
But all the Priestess of the Dance said was “Very good, Aylah.”
And later, when I told Aylah how I had feared I would be forced to choose between her and the Dance, how cold my skin had turned, and how fast my heart had beat with fear, she smiled and put her arms around me. “Poor Delilah,” she said, and laid her cheek against mine. “You worry too much. I told you the Temple knows how to value us.”
I do not know if Dance Priestess Sharissit truly wished to teach Aylah; I do know that she treated all her students fairly. Aylah claimed that the Priestess of the Dance had been commanded to accept her as one of the Temple’s dancers, and only shook her head ruefully when I swore she danced as well as I. We both knew better. I always surrendered myself to the passion of the Lady’s Dance, while Aylah merely knew the steps perfectly. To watch her dance was to see precisely how each movement should be done—yet although she danced flawlessly, she danced without joy.
But that did not matter, for when the two of us danced together, only the most critical noticed anything amiss.
The Temple wasted nothing, and twice never wasted such an asset as Aylah and I together created. As we studied, we were watched, and judged, and molded into a prize that would garner much profit for the Great House of Atargatis. My darkness and Aylah’s dawn-pale looks, our ability to dance beautifully together, my passion enhanced by Aylah’s precision, were praised, and we were given extra attention by the Priestess of the Dance.
New dances were created to take advantage of our talents. Special garb was fashioned for us to wear when we danced before Atargatis, or at a feast or festival. I was clad in black and silver, Aylah in crimson and gold; I Night to Aylah’s Day.
The first time we wore full dancer’s garb, its burden surprised us. The spangle-sewn tiered skirts and the wide bands of bells about our ankles weighed heavier than we had expected.
Delilah: A Novel Page 7